


Black Eyes

by pickwicklingpapers



Series: black eyes, golden glow [1]
Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Bristol, Britchell, Gen, M/M, Welcome to Bristol Bear, bit of angst, but it's really fucking not, goddamnit, gotta love the bbc, i love these two, is this comedy enough for you?, lets see how far it gets, maybe later they'll get together, mitchers, screw you and your amazing writing, so many references, someone give me a better title, start of a series, that's right i'm looking at you toby whitworth, up to you how sexy it gets, you think it's funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickwicklingpapers/pseuds/pickwicklingpapers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is on his way back from Norway when his plane gets delayed in a lovely little town called Bristol. Cue the tall, dark stranger. Set just before Anders comes back, and just after 1x02 of Being Human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rerouted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter to get things started. Will hopefully be part of a series. More soon - review? Also, any title suggestions would be welcome :)
> 
> A/N: Edited 16/06/14 because of a probable infringement to the human rights act due to bad writing and people actually having to read it. Hopefully it's better now.

“Fucking weather.” Anders grumbled as he stepped off the bus, dragging a suitcase and a large cylindrical package behind him. His day was not going well. Massive ass plane journeys followed by hours of unspeakable torment on plastic seats were _not_ fun. “Fucking weather, fucking buses, and bloody fucking-"

“Bit lost then?” An amused voice came from behind. The voice was soft and smooth and lilting, and exactly _not_ what Anders needed when he wanted to be annoyed at someone.

“Oh fuck off, you leprechaun.” Anders said irritably, turning around to lay into the tall man behind him. “Do I look like I care?”

“Well,” said the black haired man casually, taking another drag of his cigarette, “yes.” He flicked some dust off his trousers, so _not bothered_ that it made Anders' skin crawl.

Anders sagged in defeat. “Okay, so maybe I am. A bit. But only because my goddamn plane got delayed by some shitty storm system over the ocean. What is with your weather?!” he huffed at the man smirking behind him. “Anders, in case you were wondering,” he said, holding out a hand, noting the taller man's fingerless gloves. And his gorgeous fingers framed by the aforementioned gloves. “Anders Johnson.”

“Mitchell.” The man returned with a wry smile, pointedly ignoring the hand.

“You got a second name there, Mitchell?” Anders said, retracting the hand slowly. Mysterious hot guys with an ancient dress sense and a leather jackets were right up his street. Of course, it was more like an extremely wide avenue, but the point still stood.

“Mitchell is my last name.”

“Got a first name there, Mitchell?” Anders said smoothly, not missing a beat. This was so up his avenue, even a GPS couldn't miss it.

“Not one I answer to.” Mitchell replied, extinguishing his cigarette underneath his heel. “So, what brings you to Bristol? I'm guessing you’re not here for the weather or buses.”

“Plane got rerouted. I’m on the way back from Norway. Me and my stick.” He reached behind him and patted his package. “You?”

“I live here. You might think it's a dump right now, but it's a hell of a lot better than rotting in a tiny village in Ireland.” Mitchell answered. “Now _that_ was hell. So, Anders, despite being majorly forward and ruining my 'nice guy' vibe...got any plans? Cos I know a great place down the road that does a wicked cup of tea.”

"Tea? Who the fuck drinks tea?" Anders complained, picking up his stick and stalking off in the direction pointed by the Irishman.

"Welcome, my friend," said Mitchell, slinging an arm around the smaller man's neck. "to England."


	2. Burnt Coffee and Hot Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I didn't expect that response! Thanks for everyone who liked it. I think this chapter was better than the last - hope you thought so too! I'd love to hear any comments, and a decent title is still needed! (Or do you like this one, idk) Sorry these aren't very long, but it's short chapters and quick updates, or long chapters and very rare updates.

“So.” Started Anders as they sat down at a dingy café, the chequered curtain fluttering gently in the draft. “Mitchell. Tell me about yourself.”

“Ha ha no.” the Irishman replied, taking a sip of his tea and wincing as his tongue was burnt. “I don’t do me. Let’s talk about you instead. I'm especially intrigued by your big stick.”

“We’d do you…me and my stick.” muttered Anders darkly,

“What?” spluttered Mitchell, choking on his tea.

“I said there’s not much to say about my stick.” Anders replied smoothly, looking Mitchell in the eye. “It’s just a stick. That’s all.”

“Must be one hell of a stick for you to bother lugging it all the way from Norway.” Mitchell said, eyeing the package leaning against the table. “Look at it, all dark and mysterious.”

Anders took a sip of his coffee. “Jesus!” He said, pulling a face and spitting it back out. “What kind of crap is this?! Do you brits even have decent coffee?”

“Anders, you’re in a crappy little café in Bristol. What do you expect?”

“True.” Anders replied, looking furtively around. “Fucking storms.” He looked at the rain starting to roll down the windows, grey clouds caking the sky. Thunderstorms and lightening predicted for the entirety of Britain and the surrounding seas. No flights in or out for a couple of days at least. Not that he was in any particular hurry to get back - the peace and quiet stemming from a lack of gods and Johnson brothers was relaxing. Better weather would be nice, though.

“So how long you in Bristol for, Anders?” Mitchell asked, dark eyes looking....darker?

“I figured I might stay a while -" Anders replied, dismissing it as a figment of his imagination, sleep deprivation etc. etc. "– I'm in no rush to get back home, and this storm’s still going on. I’ll just wait it out. Find a hotel or something.” He took a sip of his coffee, wincing at the taste.

“Come on.” said Mitchell, standing up and picking up his keys, turning his jacket collar up and putting on his sunglasses.

Anders stood, picking up his suitcases. “What, where’re we going?”

“There’s no point you going to one of Bristol’s shitty hotels. I've got somewhere better you can stay.”


	3. Annie and the Handsome Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bookmarks and everything! I'm still in shock at the response this has got. Thank you guys :) Longer chapter this time - and the introduction of everyone's favourite ghost! Stops a bit abruptly, but I wanted the next chapter to be all one thing. Now all that's out of the way...continue!

“This is George, my housemate.” Mitchell said, holding the door open for the tourist and gesturing to the confused werewolf clutching a cup of tea in the kitchen. “And this is the house. It’s quite big – spare room in the attic, plenty of space in the lounge.” He turned and helped Anders pull his suitcase up the steps.

“Nice place this.” Anders said, looking around as he entered. “Nice, um, décor. Loving the...er...sofa.“

Mitchell smirked. “George,” he called, pulling off his jacket and hanging it over the banister. “This is Anders. His plane got delayed, so I offered to let him sleep here.” He wandered over to the sofa and sat down. “Dump your bags anywhere, Anders mate. Someone’ll take them up later. Probably George. He gets OCD about things like that. You want a beer? Cuppa?”

“Beer’d be great.” Anders replied, plonking himself down on the sofa next to the other man as George walked awkwardly over.

“Er, Mitchell, can I talk to you? In the kitchen? Alone.” Mitchell sighed and stood to follow George, when a hand stopped him.

“George mate,” Anders said, smiling benignly. “You don’t need to do this. Listen to me.” He said, dropping his voice and switching on Bragi. “There’s nothing wrong with me staying here. In fact, it’s perfectly all right and you’re fine with it. What you really want to do is go get me a beer, all right?”

“Did anyone ever tell you not to mumble?” He sighed irritably, ignoring a confused looking Anders, who was trying to inconspicuously look at his own tongue. “Mitchell. Kitchen. Now.”

Mitchell shrugged apologetically to Anders and stumped after George. “George, I-“

“What do you think you’re doing?” He interrupted, cutting the black haired man off. “You can’t just bring guys back! What if he finds out? About me. About you! Do you ever make a decision that isn't ruled by your cock?!”

Mitchell sighed; looking through the door way at the man slumped on the sofa, playing with one of George’s coasters. “I dunno George – he’s different. There’s something weird about him. Something not quite normal.” He opened the cupboard and grabbed two teabags, popping some water in the kettle.

“Who’s different?” Annie said.

“Jesus Annie!” Mitchell yelled, dropping the kettle on his foot. “You can’t just pop out of mid air like that. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Mitchell has a boyfriend.” George sniffed, crossing his arms and leaning on the counter.

“For god’s sake, George! He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just this guy that I met in town today.”

“Ooh, he’s cute.” Said Annie, peeping round the corner. “Why do you get all the luck? I never meet fit guys on street corners. Oh cheer up, George,” she said, taking the kettle from a wet and disgruntled Mitchell and refilling it. “What’s the harm? It’s not full moon or anything. And you know what?” she said, flicking the switch. “I'm going to go and talk to him. Or, well, look at him or something.”

“Annie, he won’t be able to see you. He’s not…like us” George whispered frantically after her. “Don’t be such a fool.”

“A girl can dream, George,” She called back, halfway to the lounge.


	4. Tea, Ghosts, and Self-Pity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the Bristol bashing! It’s Anders – you know how he gets :) Longer chapter this time - hope you enjoy it! Next chapter should be up tomorrow.

Anders sighed, relaxing back on the couch. He’d definitely fallen on his feet – even if Bragi wasn’t working on that George guy. Maybe he was a god. Did England have gods? He didn’t think so, but then again, New Zealand wasn’t really supposed to either. It wouldn’t surprise him if there were all sorts of freaky things about. Especially in a shady place like this. Bristol. What a dump.

He straightened the cushion behind his back, grunting irritably as he pulled out some kind of stick from underneath it. He looked at it in confusion for a moment before throwing it away carelessly. Who the fuck kept sticks under their cushions anyway? Granted, he had a stick too, but his _was_ Yggdrasil. This pointy little stump didn’t look very mythical.

He settled down and looked up to see a rather pretty young woman striding towards him. Anders did a double take. “And who is this beautiful lady?” he asked, looking Annie up and down, “Hey Mitch, you never told me you had such fit housemates.” He called loudly.

“What, you mean George?” Mitchell asked, peering round the doorway. “Yeah, he’s all right, but I’d wouldn’t say-“

“No, not George, you dick – no offence George – I mean this lovely lady here.”

“Wait, you can see me?” She said, gasping. “Mitchell, he can see me! George!” she called.

“Well wouldn’t I?” Anders asked, looking up at her. “I’d never ignore a beautiful lady.” He grinned lazily, ready to switch on Bragi. He was stuck in Bristol for a while – might as well have some fun whilst he was there.

“Wait,” said George, walking forward, dishcloth in hand. “You can see her? You can actually see her?”

“Well, yeah.” Anders replied, nonplussed.                                  

“You can see her?” Mitchell asked, standing next to George.

“Yes. What’s so weird about that?”

“Well it’s probably something to with the fact that I’m dead and normal people can’t see me, so it’s kind of weird that you can.” Annie explained very quickly and cheerfully.

“Hold up a moment,” Anders leaned forward, elbows on knees, “You’re dead?”

 

* * *

 

 “So.” Said Annie cheerfully, sitting next to Anders and handing him a steaming cup of tea. “What’s your story then? What are you?”

Anders sighed. No use pretending - “I’m a god.”

“You? You’re a god?” said Mitchell unbelievingly. “Do gods even exist?”

“Bragi. Norse god of poetry.”

George snorted into his tea. “You’re the god of poetry? You? Poetry?”

“Hey” Ander said looking sharply at George “Don’t knock it. You get all sorts of epic powers. And it’s better than what my brother Ty got – Hoor, god of everything dark and cold. Great in summer when you need some ice.”

“Yeah, but what powers do you get as the god of poetry, then? The ability to spout limericks?”

“Don’t be a dick, George. Bragi’s powers are pretty cool. My powers are actually useful, Like the ability to talk anyone into doing anything.”

“Sweet.” said Mitchell, plonking himself down next to Annie with a beer, handing another to Anders.

“Yeah, I generally just use it to talk girls into bed.” Anders sniggered.

“Oh, and you think that’s funny do you?” George said crossly over Mitchell’s laughter. “That’s creepy. That’s…that’s rape!”

“Hey!” the god cut in, “It’s not rape, okay? I never make people do things they don’t want to. I’m not some sick perv, you know.”

“So, um, Anders.” Annie began, sat on the table, clapping her hands on her knees. “What do gods do then? How do you become a god?”

“Well I own a PR company back home in Auckland.” Anders explained, taking a swig of his beer. “My brother Ty uses his freaky ice shit to mend fridges, Grandpa just surfs, really, Mike’s a builder, and Axl – my youngest bro – is still at college. You get your god powers when you turn twenty one; it’s a completely random process. Like some kind of freaky pick and mix. It just happens automatically if you’re the son or daughter of a god and a goddess. I got Bragi, poetry god as you know, Mike got Ullr, god of the hunt – he can’t lose at anything, he’s an absolute dick about it – Grandpa’s Baldr, he’s our prophet, but he’s a pretty shit one, Ty’s Hoor like a said before, and Axl got Odin.”

“Odin? Isn’t he like king of the gods or something?”

“Yeah, so now we’re in this sticky little situation where if he doesn’t find the Frigg and marry her before he dies, then there’s a catastrophic magical disaster and we all die too.” He took another drink. “Bit tragic, really.”

“Wait, so you all die? Your entire family? Unless you find this…Frigg?” Annie asked.

“Yeah. Frigg’s basically Odin’s mythological wife, so we all have to help Axl find her before he kicks the bucket himself, triggering some kind of volcano eruption or earthquake, or some shit.” Anders leaned back, sinking into the cushions. “So, you’re a ghost, right? And these two can see you? So they must be, what, psychics or summat?”

“Almost.” grinned Mitchell. “It’s a bt more complicated. Just don’t go near George here when it’s full moon.”

“No shit! You’re a werewolf? Sweet.”

“It’s not as fun as you seem to think it is.” George sniffed. “It’s actually highly stressful, and makes everything really, really difficult.”

“Er, George? At least you’re alive.” Annie reprimanded him.

“Deep, man.” Anders said, taking another sip. “You should meet Ty sometime, George. You could set up some kind of self-pity club.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone's who liked, reviewed and bookmarked!


	5. Casper and Fido

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Glad you all seemed to like the first chapter. Some especially nice reviews from TheNorthRemembers. Thanks to everyone else who reviewed and kudo-d and bookmarked as well! And, without further ado, on to the next chapter, in which they all have a bit of a query and Anders gets a bit foul-mouthed. Blame the shock.

“So what are you then, Mitch?”

“I’m a vampire?”

“A vampire? Right.” Anders nodded. “Well, I guess that explains the wooden-stake-thingy.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, it was behind the sofa.” Anders leaned back and took a sip of his beer. “Thought it was a bit strange.”

“A bit strange?” George asked incredulously. “I’m a werewolf, he’s a vampire, Annie’s a ghost, and this is all _a bit strange_?!” he said, quotation marks at the ready.

Anders shrugged. “Hey, I’m a god man. I’ve seen some freaky stuff. There was this one time, I saw this chick-“

“Yes, and so you keep saying! How do we even know that gods exist, hmm? How do we know that you’re not just some guy who came here to kill Mitchell or exorcise Annie, or-“

“Woah, slow down man. I am a god. I know you don’t believe me, but let’s face it, you’re a werewolf. I’m sure you seen some supernatural stuff. Are gods really that hard to believe?

"Yes, well, I think that’s enough of that.” Said Annie sharply, standing. “So.” she smiled, clapping her hands. “Mitchell. Why don’t you show Anders to his room?”

“Yeah, all right mate, this way.” The vampire said, picking up a bag and gesturing up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

“So you’re really alright with this?” Mitchell asked as he lugged Anders’ bag up the narrow stair case. “I mean, me being a vampire and all?” He set the bag down at the end of the bed and looked at the god who was currently entering the room.

“All right?! Are you out of your freaking mind?!” Ander said, staring incredulously at the black-haired man…vampire…person opposite. “I get half way across the world, escape from all those gods, and get stuck in the one house in Bristol containing a vampire, a werewolf, and a ghost?! How the fuck do I know that you even are what you say you are?! I mean, you were outside! In daylight! Granted, it wasn’t exactly sunshine, but it was daylight nonetheless! Shouldn’t you be a pile of ash by now?!”

“No,” Mitchell interjected, smirking. “That was a cruel rumour started by the wolves. And I don’t sparkle either.”

“But all the same, how the hell should I know? I’d ring up Grandpa and ask him, except it’d cost me a shitload of money and he wouldn’t know anything. I’m not sure I’d believe you, except, well, there’s something telling me to. Like this little urge, convincing me that you’re telling the truth. It’s like…I’m drawn to you. Probably just some more supernatural shit.”

Mitchell grinned. “I thought you were taking this rather well. Most people run screaming.”

“Na, that was all for the benefit of your doggy friend down there.” Anders said, shaking his head. “I’m freaking right now. I mean, I can stretch my imagination as far as the next sex god, but vampires? Werewolves? Ghosts? It’s all a bit too freaky, man.” He paused. “Hey, what do you mean ‘people usually run screaming? How many people do you tell? Is this before you try to suck all their blood?” He frowned at the grinning vampire before hoisting up Yggdrasil. “Try one thing and I’ll stake you with my stick.”

 “I'm the vampire equivalent of tee-total, Anders. Or at least, trying to be. I do _try_ not to kill people." He lit up a cigarrette. "Hence the smoking." he said, waving it about. "And hey, do you not think we’re creeped out? Gods? Have you any idea how unbelievable that sounds? Like, I know there’s a heaven and hell – I’m bound for hell one day – and there’s definitely a purgatory cos I’ve been there, but gods? And Norse gods at that? Annie doesn’t really believe you, George definitely doesn’t, and I…well, it’s like you said. I want to believe you, but I can’t. Because if I start believing in a god now, then I don’t think I could cope. I shouldn’t be allowed to replace the blame, and that’s exactly what I’ll do. I need to know that I’m responsible for my actions, not some random god. That’s what keeps me strong, Anders. That’s what keeps me off the blood.”

 “A vegan vampire, huh?” muttered Anders. “Kinky. Come on then.” He said, walking out the door. “I’m a god. Find me a random mortal, and I’ll prove it to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Well, next up - Anders proves he's a god and seduces some mortals. Or rather, George does....


	6. I know what you are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, well here we are again. Sorry for the delay. Mocks are next week, and I haven't done some of the stuff for about two years, so I'm a bit screwed. Thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos and stuff. I don't think this chapter would have been finished otherwise. But here it is (and it's definately the longest so far). Enjoy! Chapter Six - in which both Anders and George are complete and utter pricks, George develops a filthy mouth, and there's a general animosity towards Garrett from Twilight for some reason...  
> A/N: Don’t blame me for Anna. She was a nameless woman who got a bit carried away with herself and took over.  
> A/N 2: Also, snogging is not in my computer’s dictionary. I have lost all faith in humanity.

“Do we really have to do this?” George asked, hands tucked under armpits, jumping down on the spot. “This is delusional. Gods don’t exist, science says so, and it’s bloody freezing out here.”

 “Hush.” said Anders, turning to glare at the werewolf. “Does science say that werewolves exist? No. So shut it. My powers don’t work on gods or the undead, so I have to use a complete randomer to demonstrate my powers.”

 He sighed and turned round. “Friends,” he said pompously, gesturing to the empty street behind him, “today you witness what the most narrow minded” – here a pointed glare at George who huffed and looked away – “refuse to believe. So watch closely. You are about to see a true god at work.” He smiled. “Also, it’s fucking incredible.”

 “Ooh, what are you going to do?” asked Annie excitedly.

 “Next person who comes round that corner,” Anders said pointing, “I’m going to seduce.”

 Mitchell sniggered.

 “Or rather, George is.” Anders continued smiling benignly whilst Mitchell cackled in the background. Annie giggled, hastily covering up with a cough as George gave her a withering glare.

 “Look, _Anders_ , I don’t think this is appropriate.” George huffed. “This is…well, it’s barbaric! Taking away peoples’ will like that! It’s against human rights! It’s utterly cruel. I won’t stand for it, and-“

 “George,” Mitchell said, patting him on the back softly, “Shut up.” He stepped back, smirking, “All yours mate – show us this ‘god power’, and then maybe George – and the rest of us – will believe you.”

 “You do realise that it is _so_ hypocritical of you not to believe me. I mean, a vampire, a ghost and a werewolf? Come on.” He turned back to face the street. “Right, Annie darling, as the only female here who knows dear George,” he paused and smiled patronisingly at the frowning werewolf, “you get to pick his next – and probably first – kiss.”

 “I don’t think this is fai-“

 “Shut up, George.” Anders cut across. “Annie, it’s up to you. Mitch is allowed to chip in, but it’s ultimately your decision. And no, George,” he said, pre-empting the man’s question, “You don’t get a preference.”

 There was some whispering and giggling as the vampire and the ghost conferred, George wincing at a particularly shrill giggle.

 “Okay, okay,” Annie said, emerging from her little huddle. “ _That one_.” She said, pointing at a young blonde woman strolling up the street.

 “Oh come on, Annie!” Mitchell moaned. “We agreed we’d pick that one.” He said, pointing at a bag lady poking around in the gutter opposite.

 “Mitchell!”

 “It’s okay, George, I’m too nice for that. I think you deserve something pleasant. God knows you haven’t been shagged in a while.” She said blatantly.

 “Annie!”

 “Well, personally, I like Mitchell’s suggestion best, but I’m a man of my word – blonde lady it is.” He sighed, and strolled over to the woman in the street.

 “Hey darling, what’s your name?” Anders called at the woman walking along the pavement. She ignored him and continued walking. “Now, now, don’t be like that. I just want to talk. See, we’re having a little problem, and we need your advice.” He said; hand on her shoulder, gesturing across to the group stood on the doorstep. She smiled, taken in by Bragi, and walked across with him.

 She beamed at Annie and Mitchell, who smiled back, before turning to Anders. “So, um..”

 “Anders.” He supplied, smirking.

 “Anders. What do you want? Because if it doesn’t have to be done here, I know a great little coffee shop down the road where we could-“

 “No.” Anders said, cutting her off. You don’t want to do that.” He grasped her elbow and turned her to face the sulking werewolf. “But what you do want to do is kiss my friend George here, right? Because he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.”

 The girl smiled coyly at George, twisting a piece of hair around her finger. “George, right?” she said, extending a hand. “Anna. So what do you do?” she enquired. “I work for Sky. You know Sky, right? The company? I work for the broadband department. If you have the right package, it’s completely unlimited. Kind of like me.” She whispered, winking at an extremely shocked George. “And, well, you seem to have the right... _package_.” she said sultrily, eyes drifting downwards.

 “Um…” muttered George, trying to back away, stumbling over the doorstep as Mitchell and Anders cackled in the background.

 “Inside? You’re right.” Anna said, following him. “I like the way you think.” She leaned forward and kissed him. George froze, utterly unresponsive as Anna forced her tongue down his throat.

 “Excuse me, Anna,” Anders said, tapping her on the shoulder as Annie wiped away tears of laughter. “I’d like to retract my earlier statement. You think George is amazing right now, don’t you? But actually, no, no he’s not. He’s a complete twat, and you really want to slap him, kiss me, and then walk off and continue on your daily business.”

 Anna’s face changed from pure-minded pleasure to absolute horror. “You fucking twat!” she yelled, backing away from George, “How dare you! You think you can just kiss me like that?! I hate you!” she shouted, slapping him.  She turned, snogging Anders passionately before flouncing off down the street, hair swinging behind her.

 “Wow. Well she was hornier than I was expecting.” Ander said, wiping lipstick off his face. “Now you guys believe me?” he asked.

“Hell yeah,” Mitchell said, slapping Anders on the back. “Nice skill, mate.” He said, chuckling to himself.

Anders turned to Annie. “I’m convinced too.” She said, “although I semi believed you the moment you could see me. Now I definitely do. You managed to get a hot girl to snog George – that’s a major achievement.”

 “That’s not funny.” George sniffed disapprovingly, arms crossed. “And yes, you may be the god of poetry, but that doesn’t give you any right to just play with people like that.”

“Lighten up, Georgey-boy.” Anders grinned impishly, slinging an arm around Mitchell’s shoulders, who grinned back at him, ever so slightly leaning in to the god’s touch. “Well, I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. I believe it is now your turn…?”

 George huffed again. “I don’t know what you’re expecting. It’s not full moon, is it? I can’t just randomly change. It is a monthly thing you know.”

“Yeah, and I bet it’s not your only monthly thing, right?” Anders said, giggling childishly at George’s expression. “Come on, Mitch. Prove to me your vampireness.”

 “Fine” Mitchell shrugged, shutting his eyes and concentrating. He snarled suddenly, eyes black, fangs extended.

 Anders gasped dramatically. “I know what you are.” He whispered softly.

“Say it,” Mitchell grinned back, eyes normal again.

Anders laughed. “I watched that film with Dawn – my assistant. She had no-one to go with so I agreed. So funny. I didn’t like the last one though. The guy who played that vampire, um, Garret or something. Whatever his name was,” He shook his head. “Really pissed me off. Like he’d once done something to me – locked me up or something and been a complete arsehole about it.”

“No way – me too!” Mitchell grinned. “He seemed like such a dick.”

They paused, both lost in unexplained feelings of anger until Anders clapped his hands together. “Right – more proof!”

“Ooh, ooh, pick me, pick me!” Annie said, bouncing up and down on the spot.

Anders grinned at her. “All yours,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing towards the now empty street.

The ghost closed her eyes, concentrating, before disappearing and reappearing sat on the roof.

“No way!” Anders whispered, shell-shocked. “How the fuck do you do that?” he said as she reappeared in front of him.

“It’s called rentaghosting.” She explained. “And no, you can’t do it. Ghosts only.”

“Well, yeah, definatley convinced. Ghost, vampire, dog.” He said pointedly ignoring George’s glare. “All sorted,” he grinned, striding into the house.

“I don’t care if he’s fucking Jesus.” George muttered as the trio followed him, into the building. “God or not, if he calls me a dog one more time, I will fucking end him.” 


	7. Backstories and Bullshit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! This is mainly just a getting-know-you chapter - because they obviously can't become best mates (and coughLOVERScough) without knowing something about each other.

“So,” said Anders, beer in hand, back on the sofa, “You all believe me and I certainly believe all of you…except Georgey-boy. Yet to see any proof from him. Not so much as a bark. Still,” he shrugged, sinking into the cushions, “not the weirdest thing I’ve seen.”  
“Oh yeah,” said George, “like what?”  
“Well there was this one time when this giant kidnapped Zeb and wouldn’t give him back until he got some chicken and a goddess. Ooh,” he said, sitting up, “there was this one time when my brother turned into a woman.”  
“No way!” Mitchell laughed. “Like…tits and all?”  
“Yeah,” Anders nodded sagely, “Massive ones. And she was really fit and it was really annoying cos I couldn’t sleep with her because she was my brother.”  
“That must have been really hard for you.” muttered George sarcastically.  
“It was though. Cos she was, like, well fit, but she was my brother and even Grandpa was checking her out. You have to bear in mind, of course, that we didn’t know she was Axl until she told us. Cos Axl’s, like, really ugly, and she was the hottest bird I’ve ever seen.”  
“But why do you think he changed?” Annie asked, clasping a cup of tea.  
“I dunno. Grandpa said it was an Odin thing. He’d gone to sleep with a dress and a wig on – some cross-dressing party or something – and when he woke up, well, it wasn’t a wig. He turned back when they figured out why he’d turned.”  
“Which was…?” Mitchell prompted.  
“He had to ‘learn what women wanted’. Cos he’d been a right dick to Gaia – his flatmate who he totally fancies, by the way, the sexual tension is unbelievable. So Michelle had sex with him..um, her, and then he turned back. Quite funny when you think about it.”  
Annie sniffed, looking longingly at her cup of tea before handing it to George, “Wish my boyfriend had been nice enough to change genders to figure out what I liked.”  
“Why? Were they all dicks?”  
“Well, the last one killed me, so….” she said, walking into the kitchen to put the kettle on. “I think anything would be an improvement now.” She slammed the lever down and strode back out. “Anyway,” she said, smile returning, “I’ve got a better life now. Dying’s probably the best thing to ever happen to me. I’ve got a proper little family now.” She slung her arm around Mitchell and George, who smiled and leaned into her. “Got me boys, got me house. I’m sorted for life. Or, well, death, as the case may be.”  
“And you, Mitchell?” Anders said, “You enjoying your, um, life/death/undeadedness?”  
“It has it ups. It has plenty of,” he grimaced, “downs.”  
“Life, right?” Ander sniffed, taking another swig of his beer. “Bullshit.”


	8. I swear I recognise that small guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell and Anders are alone in the house....and so out comes the Laurel and Hardy. And the tea. Short chapter - sorry, but I didn't want it to go into the next one. Enjoy!

 “So we expecting anyone else tonight, or is it just us sat on the sofa doing nothing?” asked Anders to the vampire relaxed in front of the television.

 “Na, Real Hustle’s not on tonight, so George won’t be coming down. For some reason he doesn’t like you.” Mitchell grinned, blowing on his tea. “I dunno where Annie is, but she’s out doing whatever ghosts do for fun, George’ll be reading some boring textbook or other, and I,” he said, reaching over and holding up a dvd case for the god in the kitchen to see, “will be beginning your education. Laurel and Hardy.” He said, switching on the television. “You’re missing out. You’re stuck here for another four days or so. I reckon if we pull a few all-nighters we can be finished by then.”

 “Seriously?” an incredulous Anders asked. “You’re a fanboy? I get it, lord of the rings and shit are pretty cool, but no, being a normal fanboy isn’t good enough for the great first-nameless Mitchell. You have to be a fan of the oldest, most boring comedy in the world. I expected it of George, but you?” he scoffed.

 “Hey.” Mitchell said, suddenly serious. “Laurel and Hardy are gods to me.”

 “I thought _I_   was your only god?” Anders said, smirking at him as he strutted over. “Or do you not want me anymore?”

 “Well,” said the vampire, ever-so-slightly-flirtliy, “It’s not like you’re king of the gods or anything.”

 “No, that’s my brother. But trust me” Anders said, voice lowered as he leant over the arm of the sofa to whisper in Mitchell’s ear. “I’m better. In _every_ way.”

 The vampire shifted awkwardly. “Um, yeah.” He leant forward and changed the channel, purely for something to do. Anything to take his mind off these…feelings that he was having. They were ridiculous. Anders would be leaving soon, and It would end and he would go back to the hospital and work in the dark hours and stay out of the limelight. He’d stay in Bristol, and take the train places, alone. He’d stay off the blood, and he’d get away from bad influences like Daisy and Ivan.

Sure.

That was totally going to happen.

Who was he kidding? If he stayed here it’d end badly, and if he went anywhere else, it’d end badly too. He was a vampire. He was cursed. Nothing would ever work out. His luck had ended the day he’d accepted Herrick’s offer. Shit, Herrick! If he found out there was a norse god in the house…fuck. He glanced at the tv, purely to distract himself more than to watch itv’s ad break.

“Jesus!” he said, pulling Anders in the seat next to him. “It’s the haribo advert! Anders, you’ve got to see this.” He said, punching him on the arm. “Marketing at its finest. A bunch of adults…with kids voices.”

Anders frowned. “I feel like I’ve seen him before,” he said, pointing at one of the actors on screen. “Only he was…smaller. And more bearded.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell agreed, nodding. “I know what you mean. Must have been in some film or other. I’d never forget a pair of ears like those.” He took a sip of his tea, pushing all earlier thoughts and misgivings to the back of the mind. Anders made him feel good. He didn’t have him for long, and he’d be fucking damned if he didn’t make the most of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure that this is going where either of them want - but that's what the next chapter's going for...


	9. The REAL Hustle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this chapter has been so long coming (because it gave me an unbelievable amount of trouble and also school) I feel like I should give you a heads up - my fight scene is pathetic. Not that it's even a proper fight scene. Think the moment in Supernatural where they fight over the keys on the bed. That's the effect I'm angling for. It's not my favourite chapter, but necessary plot wise. Also, spot the Merlin reference. There's nothing like a hastily invented excuse to make people suspicious. (Or, in Annie's case, completely oblivious...)
> 
> Enjoy!

“Yeah, so, Laurel and Hardy.” Mitchell said, clearing his throat and his mind. “Cool shit.”

“Uh, yeah, whatever,” answered Anders, looking at him sideways. “Do we have to watch it? I mean, can’t we watch something better? More exciting?” He gasped childishly at the contents of the bookcase opposite. “You have Red Dragon!” He nudged the vampire next to him, “Come on Mitch, a vampire like you's gotta  appreciate the beauty of Hannibal Lecter!”

“I told you, don’t call me that! Besides,” he added grumpily, “they’re George’s.”

“Sure thing, Mitch.” Anders grinned. "George, the timid little pup watching Lecter? No way. If they're not yours - which I don't for a second believe, by the way - then they're Annie's."

Mitchell punched him. “I hate you, you dick. Now shut up and watch Will Graham get stabbed.”

Anders gasped overdramatically. “Spoilers! The book’s only what – couple of decades old?” He punched Mitchell back, wincing as the vampire immediately slapped him round the back of the head in retaliation. “Right, that’s it – you want a fight, you’re getting a fight!”.

Tea went flying as Anders grabbed the vampire’s hair and tugged it sharply. Mitchell winced and hit Anders back. “You’re such a dick, you know that?” He grabbed at the tv remote. “Now give it to me!” he grunted, trying to snatch the electronics away.

“Not – a – chance!” the god yelled back, holding it above his head, away from Mitchell’s prying hands. He shoved him, nearly falling off the sofa in the process. Mitchell grabbed him, pulling the god on top of himself, stealing the remote as he did so.

“SUCCESS!” he shouted, grinning widely. The vampire waved the remote away as Anders grabbed desperately at it. “And now that I have control….Laurel and Hardy time!”

“Oh god no!” Anders groaned. “Anything but. Now _give me that_!” He reached across, hand grabbing Mitchell’’s. He looked down into the vampire’s eyes, suddenly aware how close they were, and of how his body fitted perfectly on top of the taller man’s.

“Mitchell, I-“

“Shh.” he replied. Anders' head dipped, lips puckering, and…

“Hi guys!” Annie chirped cheerfully.

Anders gave a surprised yelp and flinched off Mitchell. “Annie! I did not hear you come in. We were just, um,…” he glanced up at Mitchell desperately.

“Poetry.” The vampire blurted out, sitting up and attempting to look casual. ”I was showing Anders some of my favourite poetry.”

“Aww, that’s nice. Don’t forget to show him yours – he’s brilliant,” she added to Anders. “Absolute genius. My old English teacher’d probably cry over his similes. But he’ll never publish them.”

“They always want biographies.” whined Mitchell, straightening his shirt. “How am I supposed to do a biography?”

“Use a pseudonym. That’s what they all do nowadays.” Annie said, wandering through to the kitchen. “Now, anyone like a cup of tea? I’ve got some digestives too.”

Anders glanced at Mitchell. “Na, thanks. I, er, I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Aw, okay.” Annie smiled sympathetically. “You okay? It’s quite early still.”

“Um, yeah…think it must be a bit of jetlag.”

“Well you rest up then. Night.”

“Yeah, um, night.” coughed Mitchell awkwardly, blushing. He hurried into the kitchen, practically running.

Anders turned and walked up the stairs. It looked like awkwardness would prevail for as long as it teamed up with creepy magically teleporting ghosts. Totally not cool. And then there was the issue of whether or not Mitchell genuinely liked him. He hadn't said anything, hadn't kissed him, hadn't told Annie to piss off and proceeded to shag Anders' brains out. Was he even gay?! Fuck, he thought as he slid beneath the covers. He had no fucking idea and he had a limited amount of fucking time and why did it have to be the one person that his powers didn't work on that he wanted to shag. Totally not cool. He sighed - maybe he'd figure it out in the morning.

Yeah right, he snorted. As if the vampire downstairs was a riddle that anyone would ever solve. And especially not a useless, horny god of freaking _poetry_ and no useful powers to speak off. It was pointless.

But that didn't stop him hoping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want these two to hurry up and kiss already. And then make out. And then stay with each other forever and for everyone to be happy. But, for some reason, the characters just won't do that. At least it's not my fault. I didn't create them...


	10. Emails Suck (but not literally, because that's a vampire thing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been exactly 12 hours, 42 minutes, and roughly 36 seconds since that almost kiss (not that Anders was counting), and Mitchell still hadn't mentioned it. Which was kind of really-insanely-fucking-infuriatingly-bad, considering the email that Anders had just read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Well. A) apologies for any and all absences. Life happened. B) apologies for this chapter because it was going to be happy and jolly and fluff and I have no idea what happened there. I almost cried, writing it, but let's see what you think...  
> EDIT 18/08/14: I fixed some spelling mistakes and edited Anders' speech. Hope it's better!

 It had been exactly 12 hours, 42 minutes, and roughly 36 seconds since that almost kiss (not that Anders was counting), and Mitchell still hadn't mentioned it. Which was kind of really-insanely-fucking-infuriatingly-bad, considering the email that Anders had just read.

 “Hey,” said Mitchell, strolling in with two cups of tea. “Do you wanna do something? It’s just us about cos Annie’s out meeting some ghost friends or some shit and George is at work. We could go see that new film? City of Bones or whatever?”

 Anders didn’t look up. “No” he said shortly.

 “Yeah, you’re right - on second thoughts, bad idea. Werewolves and shit. Too close to home. Why are there so many goddamn supernatural films about nowadays? And none of them are good. Twilight gave me and my lot such bad rep. It’s hard to be taken seriously when everyone thinks that you should be sparkling.” He sighed. “I’m disappointed in you, R-Patz. How could you betray me so.” He dropped onto the sofa mournfully, plonking the tea down before it spilt.

 “What’cha doing?” he asked, peering over at the god’s laptop, slightly uneased by his lack of reaction. Normally, Anders was first in line for a bit of Twilight bashing. “I brought tea. Don’t you want some?”

 “No, I’m good.” muttered the god, frowning at his screen.

 Mitchell nodded, sitting back. He slumped, before grimacing in pain. Rooting around in the cushions behind his back, he frowned and withdrew the tv remote. “Wondered where that’d gone.” He muttered.

 Anders just frowned and clicked.

 “Okay, Anders.” Mitchell said, putting his tea back down with a resounding plonk. “What’s up? You’re never like this. You’re usually the first to crack jokes and I’m giving you prime ammunition here. But instead you’re just sat there like some just shot your favourite cat. Spill.”

 “Mhm.” Anders grunted, backspacing frantically.

 “Anders!” Mitchell said, slapping the lid down and snatching the laptop away from the blond. “Concentrate! Now, tell me what’s up.”

 “Nothing was up until you stole my laptop, you shit! Give it back!” he cried, leaning over and grasping for it. “Give. It. Back, you bastard!”

 “Not until I check your internet history, young man!” Mitchell said condescendingly, pulling it further from the god’s grasp. He clicked a few buttons before dropping it and turning to face Anders, shock on his face. “Plane ticket redistributions?! You’re leaving?! What?! Why didn't you tell me?!”

 Anders slumped back, defeat on his face. “I only just found out. And it’s not like we didn't know this was coming. I'm only here because of that bloody storm. _You_ know that.” He protested weakly.

 Mitchell nodded glumly, turning his face away.

 Anders’ face fell. “Look, Mitch…. I don’t want to go, you know that. I like it here. You, Annie, you’re brilliant, all of you. Even dog boy. It’s just…there’s all this stuff that I have to fix at home." he said, trying to explain without sounding like he was running away from any kind of commitment. Which, he brooded guiltily, he kind of was. But that wasn't his main reason. He didn't know why, but apparently the stick was important, and although his family didn't realise it yet, they needed him. He had to be there when they did. "I have to take my stick and give it to my brothers and my mother who was a tree but now isn't, all of whom will undoubtedly hurl abuse at me because they all hate me because I've been a dick in the past and they all think they're so high-and-mighty and won't give me the time of day, let alone a second chance. Here, you've let me be myself, and I know that I can be an absolute fucking moron sometimes, but I'm _better_ here. I know I am. And it’s ‘cause of you.

 I don’t want to go. I really don’t, Mitchell. But I have to, _because I have no choice_. No matter how much they put me down and punch me and hurl abuse, _they’re still my family_. _I am still responsible_. I'm not the oldest, or the coolest, or the smartest, and - let's face it - I have the shittiest powers, no matter how much I tease Ty, but I still have to help them. And not just them; everyone. If Axl dies before we find the Frigg, then everyone in New Zealand will fucking _die_! Hell, I've even left Dawn without a job! So maybe I am just a glorified dog fetching sticks because people tell me to, and yeah, I would be better off here! I want to stay, Mitchell. I really do, because I love y-” he broke off and stared at the floor, biting his lip so hard he drew blood. "What I meant to say is: I love being here. It's made me a better person, and I know that if I go back to that toxic place then I'll just rot away agian. But as much as I want to get out, I can't. _Because this isn't about_ _me_. I'm not important. I don't matter at all,  but they do. _They're my brothers_."

 Mitchell nodded again, hands curling into fists. “Yeah, no, I get it. You've got responsibilities. You've got your mysterious stick to take care of. Your family’s the most important thing. I mean, you’re lucky – you actually have some left. None of us do. We're just a, a - oh, what does Annie call us? - a little enclave of the lost. You're not lost. You have a life. Go make the most of it, fix it, before you lose them. It’s not like I – _we_ are anything important. You've only known us what? A week?” he sniffed. “I get it. And you’re right. You should go. You're human, as human as they come, and you have so much life left, and you shouldn't spend it rotting with us and our problems.”

 Anders sighed. “Mitchell, I-“

 The vampire stood to leave.

 “Mitch –“ Anders said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back down. “You don’t understand. I have to go back, I have fix them and situations and myself, but then, then, _I will come back_.”

 Mitchell sniffed. “Yeah. Sure.” He leant forward, seizing the remote. “So, if you’re leaving soon…”

 Anders looked up, licking his lips hopefully. “Yeah?”

 The vampire grinned and crossed his legs on the table. “We’ve got a hell of a lot of Doctor Who to watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go, then onto the sequel! Hope you liked (also coughCOMMENT/KUDOS SIL VOUS PLAIT DANKEcoughcough wow who said that)


	11. Departures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M SORRY I’M SORRY AND THEN THIS TURNED REALLY WEIRDLY ANGSTY AND I’M SORRY IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FLUFF BUT I THINK EXAMS GOT TO ME I’M SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT THE NEXT ONE WILL BE UP I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN I’M SO SO SORRY
> 
> Meanwhile, Anders is leaving. And Mitchell's nowhere to be seen. Go figure.
> 
> Edit 18/01/14: I fixed bits. It should be better now. Hopefully.

 Anders sighed, stuffing a shirt haphazardly into his suitcase. He’d only been here a couple of days – a week at most – but somehow his entire luggage had ended up strewn across the floor of his room. The _guest_ room, he corrected mentally. It wasn’t his. He didn’t belong here. Faint noises drifted up the stairs from below. Sounds that he’d grown to hate and love at the same time, and would almost, maybe, definitely miss. The familiar groans and whistles as the ancient kettle boiled for the millionth time that hour, the cheesy chick flick songs crooning from the beat up stereo, the Real Hustle theme track, Mitchell’s laugh as he guffawed at some joke from George...

 

 He was going to miss Mitchell most of all. His ever-present fingerless gloves, his crooked smirk, his aversion to Marigolds. And most of all, the way he smiled when he said Anders’ name, and the way that he tucked his socked feet under Anders’ leg when they were curled up on the sofa watching tv until Anders would stretch his legs out and across to the opposite armrest just to annoy the vampire.

 

 In some ways, it was better that he hadn’t said anything. They’d had their moment, or whatever he was going to call it (but it had definitely been something), until Annie had popped up with her ever constant tea. But there had been nothing since then, and no clues from Mitchell that there would be either, so it wasn’t like Anders was expecting anything. No. Of course not. Why would he?

 

 (Fucking tea)

 

 He rooted around in the drawer, searching for anything left at the back, finger grasping a soft, foreign object. He pulled it out, frowning slightly. A small teddy bear beamed back at him, its grossly disproportional front paws bearing the message ‘Welcome to Bristol!’. Mitchell had presented it to him on his second day, blushing slightly as he muttered something about ‘Bristol is a wonderful place’. Anders snorted at the memory. He hadn’t seen much of Bristol, but what had been visible through the low cloud and almost constant rain hadn’t been anything special. But the company made it infinitely better than anything offered back home.

 

 It was the company that he would miss. He’d be stupid not to, but the more time he spent hanging around moping, the longer it was going to take to leave. He had to get over himself and not be selfish for once. He didn’t belong here, and whilst they were nice enough to let him stay, they didn’t want him. Of course they didn’t. No one ever did. Not even his own brothers, so why would a bunch of complete strangers? He threw the last few things in his suitcase, struggling to zip it shut. He swore and threw the toy on the floor, ignoring the thump as it landed. It was a reminder of Mitchell, and he did not need that. He'd have enough shit to deal with when he got home. A knock on the door interrupted his cursing.

 

 “Sorry,” George called, poking his head around the door. “but the taxi’s here. You all ready to go?”

 

 _See?_   thought Anders bitterly, zipping the suitcase with a flourish, they can’t wait to be rid of me. _What am I even doing here? This is fucking ridiculous._

 

 “I am all good, Georgey-boy." Anders said blithely, "Let me grab my shoes, and we are ready to rock and roll.”

 

 George picked up the suitcase and started downstairs, Anders hopping behind, grabbing Yggdrasil as he left. “Don’t fall down the stairs,” called Annie when she saw him on one foot, struggling to fit his second shoe on. “I did that once. Not the best outcome. Leaves you with some _killer_ bruises.” She giggled before walking off, leaving a mystified Anders staring blankly after her.

 

 George sighed. “Don’t ask,” he said. “It’ll just encourage her." He shook his head. "Come on. Got to be at the airport at least three hours before departure time, which makes _you_ over two hours late.”

 

 “That’s only international flights, George,” Annie called. “Anders’ll be fine. Won’t you, Anders?”

 

 Anders nodded and followed silently, taking one last look at the living room, fingers lingering on the door knob. The terrible choice of dulux, the out of shape sofa, the battered tv, propped up by various boxsets. Simple things with so many complex memories. Somehow within the precious few days he’d been here, those objects had woven them into him, making each one special. He looked around, knowing that he’d miss each one of the cluttered objects and the memories that they held. Such an empty room, filled with so many things. Books and board games and George and Annie…

 

 And no Mitchell.

 

 That was the final blow. That was the deciding nail in the coffin. If Mitchell wasn’t going to bother showing up to see him off…well, Anders wasn’t going to miss him.

 

 And he so totally didn’t.

 

 No missing allowed. Mitchell was out of sight, out of mind, and soon to be ten thousand miles away. There was nothing to be done about it because, hell, Anders didn’t even have his phone number, let alone know if the vampire had managed to adapt to technology enough or have  enough (any) friends to even _have_ a phone.

 

 He grabbed his suitcase from George, who waved him goodbye with a cheerful 'good luck!',  and stumped down the steps. Ugh, he was so pitiful. Even goddamn dog boy was being nice to him, and Fido hated him. With a vengeance. The kind that he usually reserved for animal abusers and people who threw up in hospitals. Probably. Anders mentally shook himself and shoved his suitcase into the boot, grabbing his stick and slumping into the backseat. The chubby face of the cab driver stared back. “Where to, mate?” he asked cheerfully.

 

  “Airport.” He replied grumpily, slumping in the seat and checking his phone. 10.59. More than enough time to get his plane. As long as this bloody cab actually set off. Which, at the moment, was looking unlikely.

 

  “Airport? Ooh – going home? That’s funny. I didn’t know we did flights to Australia.”

 

 Anders groaned internally. Just his luck – a chatty cabby with the usual limited geographical knowledge. “New Zealand. And you don’t. I’m connecting at Edinburgh, then to Manchester, then Wellington. Bloody unnecessary, if you ask me.” he said viciously, glad for a chance to rant, even if it was about flights.

 

 “Ooh. Sounds long – I don’t pity you. Still, you get to go home. Must be nice, going home after a good long trip. Business or work? I never get to go away on either. You don't make much being a cab driver, I tell you that. Still, I reckon I'd be a great tourist. There's loads of stuff I want to see." he said, finally breaking to breathe. "You’ve got that opera house thing over there, haven’t you?”

 

 “ _New Zealand_.” Anders hissed between gritted teeth. “And yes, it is long, and I’m late, so can we please just _go._ ”

 

 “Right you are.” The driver said, pulling out. George and Annie waved from the doorstep, hands wrapped around mugs of tea, smiling benignly. Happy and cheerful and gone forever. They belonged. He didn’t, Anders thought sulkily. “They mates of yours?” the taxi driver asked, glancing backwards at the god in the back seat.

 

 “No,” Anders muttered, deep in thought. “No. Not anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did actual airport research for that chapter. Oh, and don't forget that bear. I have plans for that bear.


	12. Planes, Pains, and Slightly Creepy Cabbies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I don't know what happened, but it's eventually here. I did go back and actually make some of the previous chapters slightly more fit for human consumption, because I’m surprised you’ve all got this far with writing that bad. Go back and read them, if you’ve got the time. Personally, I like the GPS hate in chapter one. I’m going to do them all once I’ve finished with this, so hang in there with the shitty writing. It will get slightly less shitty.
> 
> And now – Mitchell being an arsehole, but not 100% a dick.

* * *

Mitchell emerged some time after noon. Annie was stood outside his door, tea in hand, her trademark ‘you piece of shit, you’ look on her face.

“Big mistake, Mitchell,” She said, shaking her head. “Bloody big mistake.”

Mitchell nodded slowly. ‘Yeah. Still, I suppose he’s better off without me.” He sloped past her dejectedly, shuffling his way downstairs.

He was stopped at the bottom by his housemates. Arms crossed, they blocked the landing. George shuffled uncomfortably before clearing his throat.

“Look, um, Mitchell, we think… Well, we think that, um-”

Annie cut him off with a sharp look. “We think you’re being a fucking idiot.” She stood, nose to nose, glaring at him. Mictehll recoiled. She was bloody scary like this.

“Stop moping around. You should have gotten off your arse and done something whilst he was here. But you didn’t.” She poked him in the chest, forcing him to take a step back, stumbling on the step. “And now he’s gone. So what are you gonna do? Huh, Mitchell? Are you going to sit around all day and feel sorry for yourself? Or do you think you might actually want to do the right thing and go after him?!” Her bounced angrily as she shook her head in exasperation.

Mitchell mumbled something unintelligibly.

“Yes?” Annie asked, foot tapping, voice like a whip.

“I’m going to after him.”

“Good. The taxi’ll be here in five minutes.” She stalked off, leaving Mitchell with an apologetic werewolf.

“I did _try_ and stop her,” George mumbled. “But you know what she gets like. It’s just hard. And she’s all ready dead,” he added, slightly more cheerful, “so it’s not like we can actually do anything to her.” He adjusted his glasses, glancing awkwardly at the glowering vampire. “Um, yeah.” he finished, hurrying away.

Mitchell sighed. Annie was right. He had wasted all they time he’d had. He hadn’t even seen Anders off – he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of it. He hadn’t spared a thought as to what that would do to Anders. But maybe they were better off like this. A clean break; twilight reference not intended. Even if he did reach Anders in time, what was he supposed to do? Anders was going home. He had to go home: he had a family, a job, a life. Mitchell could offer him nothing but cold, wet Bristol and a potential vampire crisis. On that point, surely it was better with Anders being gone? He hated to think what kind of shitty things Herrick could do with a Norse God. Or rather, the brutally tortured and steadily bleeding mortal vessel of one. Because that is what Anders would end up as within one minute of that sadistic bastard finding out his secret.

“You do realise,” came Annie’s soft voice from beside him, “that you could go with him. You don’t have to stay in Bristol forever, you know.”

Mitchell gratefully accepted the cup of tea that she handed him. “But..you and George,” he said, sipping it, “I can’t just leave you. Not now. Not with things getting all stirred up.”

“Mitchell, you have to consider,” she said gently, “that George and I wouldn’t actually have any vampire involvement if you left. There’s not many of your kind willing to hang out with the likes of us. We’d be fine. Anyway, you’d be able to come back any time and see us. It wouldn’t be bad. Besides, we’re going to be around for a good deal longer. Give it a hundred odd years and you can come find me again.” She grinned. “I’m already dead, Mitchell. There’s not much that can happen to me now. And George? Well, he's got more fight in him than you'd think. We'll be fine.”

“So..you think I should go?” Mitchell asked, looking up at her for approval.

“We do. Both of us. George too.” She smiled comfortingly. "You deserve something good. If you hang around here, you’re just going to drive yourself into the ground. There’s nothing for you here. There'll be blood. You’ll just do something reckless and stupid and drive yourself into the dust. Quite literally because you’ll probably offend someone so much that they’ll come round and stake you. And I don’t want to have to see that.” She looked him dead in the eye. “Anders made you better. It was easy to see. You smiled more, you didn’t so your whole ‘dark and brooding ‘ thing. You deserve happiness, Mitchell. You’ve waited long enough for it.”

A car horn honked outside. “Annie!” George called, “Taxi’s here. “This is it. Happiness, or misery in dear old Bristol.”

* * *

 

Mitchell cursed. After a few false starts (Annie attempting to talk to the driver, George forgetting to lock the front door), they'd finally managed to get going. They'd started off well, having bribed the cabbie to break a few speed limits, but now they were stuck in traffic.

It wasn't even rush hour. There were no roadworks. There was no explanation as to why they were idling in a queue, other than that Mitchell was a member of a race historically cursed by god, but that didn't really seem like a valid excuse. Although they had just discovered that norse gods were real, so there was always the possibility. Add in George (probably possessed by some demon or other - maybe causing the whole werewolf thing, maybe just the intense ocd), Annie (who had failed multiple times to visit the spirit in the sky) and the cursing currently coming from all four mouths, and they were probably the most anti-christian, blaspheming taxi in the northern hemisphere.

Normally, he'd be fine with some bad luck. It made life interesting. But not today. Not now.  _Oh come on!_ he thought, groaning internally,  _there are at least three people in this cab who look like they're capable of murder, and that's not counting George because he's on a timer._

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up at the taxi lay-by. Mitchell dived out of the door, leaving George to pay the (slightly creepy) taxi driver. He burst thought the double doors, scanning the area for signs. Spotting the arrows for the terminal gates, he set off running. Anders had a hell of a head start, and he did not intend for the god to get any further away. Shoes slipping on the laminate, he dashed through the door way, skidding round corners. He pulled up short. 

Passport control. Customs. Spot checks.

Shit.

He took a deep breath. This was it, all or nothing. If he got caught now, everything would be over. This wasn't a film - he wouldn't get off scot free. He'd be in deep shit and probably get arrested. And that would lead to a hell of a lot of trouble that he really did not need right now. At least that was one advantage - they wouldn't be able to identify him from cctv footage.

He set off, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. He'd almost snuck through passport control when -

"Hey! You! Sir! Stop!"

He couldn't go back, he hadn't brought his passport - he didn't have one; The picture bit was kind of tricky. He took off, running as fast as he could. Which was pretty bloody fast, given the whole vampire thing, but not fast enough.  Not fast enough to stop the unthinkable happening. The hope that had been blossoming inside shattered at the sight ahead. Through the glass wall he could see a familiar blond head handing a boarding pass to a smiling assistant. He desperately prayed that something would break - the machine maybe, or the plane. For someone to hit the fire alarm, for there to be some kind of hazard alert. Anything.

Anything.

He hit the glass, hammering desperately. Voice hoarse, he screamed the name again and again. He took off, running down the stairs, tripping and stumbling with desperation. His hair swung in his face, sticking to the sweat on his forehead. Utterly dishevelled, he wrenched the door open, breaking the hinge in his desperation. Running forward, he shouted once more, the vowels and constants blending in a rush of adrenaline. The clean white twisted and turned as his sight narrowed on the lone figure walking steadily out of the door and out of his life. Tears in his eyes, he slammed into the metal barrier, swinging back. He shouted once more, voice as broken as his heart. He wiped his hair back, eyes desperately seeking.

Too late. Anders Johnson had left the building. Anders Johnson was on the plane.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

"Do you think he made it?" Annie asked worriedly.

"Of course he made it." George answered reassuringly. "This is Mitchell we're talking about. He always makes it by the skin of his teeth. He always survives. I'd love to see who manages to kill him in the end. But mark my words, it'll be a good many years yet. You'll see, he'll come out any moment, arm round that boyfriend of his, grinning like a loon."

"Yeah, you're right. I should stop worrying. D'you want to go get a cup of tea?"

"Yeah, alright."

"George?"

"Yeah?"

"What if he doesn't make it?"

"He will. He has to."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me so long to write, but seems so short. Hopefully, you're not disappointed. I also apologise for how cheesy it got at the end. Just think Love Actually, but sadder.
> 
> I promise there will be an epilogue, and I promise that it will be up soon. Hopefully. Parkman, it's your job to bug me. Hope you enjoyed it. Thoughts? Leave a review :)


	13. Lifeless (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I watched an episode of Being Human USA, and my god it was awful. No George, no Mitchell, no Annie. I didn’t watch the entire first series, but I’m willing to bet that there was no accidental vampire porn hidden inside a Laurel and Hardy dvd. Also, vampires totally make sense in England. It’s not sunny. Oh, and they seem to have actual nurses jobs in the hospital, rather than cleaners jobs. Although the guy who plays the equivalent of George is brilliant, just not very...George-like. So I’m retreating back to my world of Britchell and present you with this – the epilogue. It's short, but hopefully you'll forgive me.

Anders accepted the champagne from the air hostess, his heart not quite in his smile. He wondered if he should just Bragi out, take her in to the bathroom at the back and shag her senseless. There wasn’t any thought needed for that. And thinking was the opposite of what he needed to do right now.

Because thinking would lead to Mitchell, and Mitchell would lead to a world of pain that he did not want to cope with, especially now that he was going home to the family that hated him. A family that thought he was scum, a family that would rather see him dead than near them. Hell, the only one he halfway got on with was his dead mother who had spent the past decade or so as a tree. Jesus, his family really would make prime Jeremy Kyle candidates.

(No, not good. Mitchell had made him watched that show. Memories of laughing with Mitchell were a no go.)

He wouldn't get many laughs back home. It wasn't like any of them were even missing him. Ty checked in occasionally, but they obviously all cared more about the stick. Everyone cared more about the stick - like it was some great thing worth more than the life of a pathetic excuse for a god. Even the goddesses agreed. He doubted anyone would be glad to see him back. Well, anyone apart from Olaf. He'd always been the nicest guy in the family, always saying how much he loved Anders. But Olaf was a pensioner with a drug addled brain and freaky aging skills. Oracle or not, Anders didn’t trust a word he said.

 He sipped at the alcohol, bubbles fizzing on his tongue. He couldn’t quite figure out if the bitter taste on his tongue was from the drink or a remnant of the earlier sight of an empty departure gate. But who was he kidding? Of course no one came. He'd only been in the country for about a week, jesus. He was lucky he'd even met anyone, let alone have people he considered friends wave his taxi off. This wasn't some happy, little, cutsie-pie fairytale were he, Mitchell, Annie, and Dog-Boy could go skipping off hand in hand to pick flowers in the meadow. If anything, this was Norse mythology, and that always ended badly. Badly, with death and torture for everyone involved. It was better for Mitchell to be out of it. George and Annie didn’t deserve any shit either. They were nice, honest people who didn’t deserve to be dragged in to this fuckfest. They didn't lie constantly, or try to one up each other. On the contrary, they seemed to actually care about each other, and try to fix their mistakes, rather than just blundering on, never admitting any wrongdoing.They didn’t deserve to die. Again, in some cases.

 But that didn't stop Mitchell's betrayal burning another hole in Anders' already patched heart. He thought they'd had something, thought for sure that he'd had a chance. But Mitchell never seemed to reciprocate the feelings. They'd always been one tantalising step away, and every shuffle forward had resulted in four jumps back.  _He doesn’t love you_ , Anders thought, a tear snaking quietly down his cheek. _He didn’t come after you, and he doesn’t love you. Forget it, you piece of shit. You don’t deserve him_. The thought rang through Anders' head as he laughed bitterly, self-loathing and hatred present in every decibel. _You don’t deserve him. He’s a blood sucking vampire who’s killed hundreds, and he’s too good for you. So what does that make you, you piece of shit. What does that make you, and your pathetic, low level, meaningless existence?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a sequel - I'll post a notification here, but you may want to subscribe to the series. If, you know, you think its good enough and you want to keep reading. I hope you do. Reviews would be nice too - it is the last chapter :)


	14. Sequel!

Just to say - as of three minutes ago, the sequel to this is posted. It's currently called 'Golden Glow', but somebody please give me a better title. You might want to go and read it? Idk. I hope you do.


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